What makes an American movie?

American Hustle is an impish tribute to all things false. A forged Renoir. An affected British accent. A Mexican FBI agent masquerading as an Arab Sheik. And above all: hair. Director David O. Russell has lots of fun exposing the back end of his main characters’ deceptive hair maintenance procedures. It’s a fitting motif, considering that the movie is all about faking one’s identity for personal gain. Beginning with the cheeky disclaimer “Some of this actually happened” it never bothers to draw a clear line between what is and is not real. Fact and fiction in Hustle are like two identical kittens, playfully tussling with one another to the point where it’s near-impossible for us to tell them apart.

The word “Hustle” fits nicely into this theme. But what about the other word in the title?  In his review of American Hustle, the Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw wrote “The adjective ‘American’ appended to a word in a movie title always implies something with instant design-classic status, gorgeously laced with irony and modernity.” Such movies tend to carry a wink of self-awareness, but what does being “American” really mean to them?

Let’s consider the other movies to receive this designation: American Beauty, American Psycho, American History X, American Gangster, American Gigolo, American Graffiti, American Pie. Sifting through these titles we find some recurring themes: crime, violence, lust, deceit, redemption, etc. But if there is one thing that unites them (and other similarly qualified films) it is that all are presided over by some permutation of the American Dream.

Maybe the characters are underdogs, crushed beneath it. Maybe they are starry-eyed social climbers, striving to achieve it. Maybe they are outlaws who have changed the rules to make it work for them. Maybe they are winners humbled by the discovery that it wasn’t really what they wanted. The spectre of the American Dream lingers regardless.  

Some “American” movies build a 3D model of the Dream in order to dismantle them. “American Beauty” casts an unflattering light on the world of affluent white suburbanites. With their stately colonial home, their SUVs, and their actual white picket fence, the Burnham family exemplifies the lifestyle for which all the huddled masses presumably yearn. Of course, these trappings of success conceal the mess of neurorses and frustrations within. And much of the movie is dedicated to exposing the unseemly reality of the Burnham’s, and by extension the American Dream they represent. The simmering dsyfunction of the Burnham family erupts as their circumstances unravel. But the movie doesn’t just put its characters through the ringer, it eventually spits them out as better people. The violent death of Lester Burnham becomes a quiet moment of reflection because before he died, he abandoned his consumer-driven misery and found his joy.

If the Burnham family represent superficial success as a family, then Patrick Bateman represents superficial success as an individual. His immaculate appearance (embodied by a different species of Christian Bale than we see in Hustle), his Manhatten apartment, his enviable possessions, represent the aspirations of all who seek to get rich in America. His obsession with status symbols is directly linked to his activities as a sadistic killer, which is what makes Bateman an American pyscho and not any other kind of psycho. The spirit of American Pyscho is dark as pitch, but the story is not amoral. It is a statement against a misinterpretation of American values, and a parable (albeit a cartoonishly extreme one) about the dangers of unchecked greed. The self-destruction of Patrick Bateman communicates the same message as the reinvention of Lester Burnham. We are reminded, in both cases, that self-aggrandizement through material goods will get you nowhere in the end. The movies are “laced with modernity” but their morals are downright Old Testament. And not for nothing. Despite evidence to the contrary, it is a comfort to be assured that America has not entirely abandoned its core values in pursuit of its golden calf.

Sentimentality often joins morality in eclipsing the cynicism of “American” movies. American Graffiti is a 1970s movie about the 1950s. It depicts a hormonally-charged group of teenagers who are both clinging to and running away from their innocence. The implication seems to be that the America of the 1950s was struggling with similar adolescent paradox. Self-aware and satirical at times, it is still a deeply nostalgic piece. The 1990s exchanged nostalgia for raunch in their own “American” franchise about the teenage loss of innocence, beginning with “American Pie.” American Pie eschewed the rosy glow of Graffiti in favor of masturbation jokes. But beneath the all the juvenile hijinks, it is still a story about the sweet, awkward vulnerability of youth. The boys in American Pie are obsessed with losing their virginity, but they’re also figuring out how to grow up into decent men. The longing for classic American goodness remains intact.

Again and again, we see a triple-layered treatment of the American Dream: what is fantasy, what is fact, and what is real. We first encounter the object of desire which – while alluring – is a little too shiny to be believed. The exterior dissolves under scrutiny and we are left with the unassuming truth. But then there’s something else: something that is maybe not as glamorous as the hollow promises of the outermost layer, but ultimately better. Like the happiness that Dorothy feels when she wakes from the dream of oz to find herself back in Kansas. America is nothing like what we dreamt it would be, but it is home. And there’s no place like home. As moviegoers, we like a glitzy garnish. But the story isn’t over until the characters, with sustaining satisfaction, discover what truly matters.

Beneath all the post-modern mischeif, there is a longing for something pure. Once movies push through the gilded exterior, they keep pushing in search of a true national character that is authentic, vibrant, and entirely unironic. Modern entertainment likes to parody and pigeonhole, and the rest of us like to be in on the joke. But at the end of the day we all want to feel the fabric of James Dean’s red jacket against our skin. We are all in the audience together, wanting something real.

American Hustle follows this format. For all the fun it has building its false exterior, it also retains its good and honest heart. The principal characters feel remorse for the bad things they’ve done, and their love of the con is ultimately overtaken by a desire to redeem themselves and settle down. It is well titled because it hits all three marks of a great “American” movie: that which is fake, that which is fact, and that which is really real. And what do you know, it has a happy ending.